


Patch Job

by mesozoic



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, bad language, enough to upset nino though, not much, some blood, such filth spills forth from these terrible fingers of mine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:16:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6968563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mesozoic/pseuds/mesozoic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marinette manages to muck things up. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s just a basic patch job,” said Alya, dragging her bag onto her lap and pulling out a very old, very worn little cushion. It was small unassuming thing: no bigger than a slice of bread, but the reverence with which the blossoming reporter held it was usually reserved for the nursing of exclusive Ladybug footage.

“My great-grandmother made it, like, eons ago.”

Marinette’s eyes lit up with interest, leaning over to inspect it. She fingered some of the fraying embroidery.

“Oh! Oh it’s beautiful!”

“Thanks! We used to keep it on the couch but it’s been getting a bit too much love lately... So yeah, it’s kind of falling apart.”

The front of the cushion was a cream-coloured aida cloth, hidden almost entirely beneath intricate green and red geometric cross-stitching - except in places where the faded threads had come loose and fallen away over time. The back was a panel of aged cherry velvet, rubbed away to the stuffing in many places. Said stuffing, goose or duck down by the looks of it, poked through gaps in the stretched stitching-

Marinette quickly plucked the escaping feathers free and shoved them back into Alya’s satchel, casting a worried glance at the seemingly unaffected individual seated below her. Adrien, who was in the midst of an animated conversation with Nino about-

 

A knowing smirk crept into her peripheral and Marinette’s attention snapped back to the cushion, face burning as she pointedly ignored Alya’s quiet cooing.

“Awwww… You’re so sweet! Boy doesn’t know how lucky he-“

“S-shouldn’t be any trouble at all! Basic patch job! Like you said!”

Alya chuckled, poking one of Marinette glowing cheeks. Putting the cushion aside, she began rooting through her bag again.

“Here girl, lemme pay you up front-”

“What? Alya no! You’re not  _ paying _ me for this!”

“Oh shut up of course I am-“

“You are my best friend, there is no way-“

 

Several things happened in rapid succession.

 

Marinette, in the throes of a series of wild hand gestures, clipped the corner of Alya’s satchel and sent the contents flying. Most of the miscellanea landed back in the bag or onto the desk, but one pencil went whizzing into the air and bounced across the desk towards- Marinette lunged forward to grab it right as Alya leapt up in a slightly-too-slow attempt to get out of the way: Marinette’s legs flew up behind her and caught Alya behind the knees, causing her to lose her balance and fall, bringing her full weight down upon the little antique cushion.

The cushion exploded upon impact, blasting a cloud of feathers into the atmosphere.

Alya’s pencil slipped straight past Marinette’s reaching fingers, fell onto the floor with a clatter, and rolled until it hit the heel of an orange designer sneaker. Adrien, totally oblivious to the disaster zone that Nino had turned around to swear at, bent down to pick up the offending piece of stationary as the feathers began to float down and about his shoulders: one drifted a little too close. He sneezed violently, head whipping forward- Adrien’s face slammed into the desk, the recoil dropping him off the edge of his seat and onto the floor.

A splatter of blood caught the rim of Nino’s glasses and his attention: at the sight of the waterfall of red streaming from his semi-conscious best friend’s nostrils the DJ’s face drained of all colour. He lurched over the side of the desk and seized the little wastepaper basket by the door, vomiting up his breakfast.

 

The feathers settled delicately on the classroom floor to the sound of absolute silence.

 

Splayed across her desk with her fingers still outstretched, Marinette’s face was frozen in an expression of pure horror. Her eyes rolled down towards the source of a muffled groan below her: Adrien, half sitting half lying against the steps. His hands hovered in the air by his face, eyes unfocused and blood dribbling from his swollen nose over his lips and down his chin, spotting dark upon the collar of a very expensive very white overshirt.

 

Shitfuckshittyshitfuckityshit-

 

A sentiment shared by Alya apparently, who vocalized a small portion of the curses running on a ticker tape through Marinette’s mind.

 

Witnessed by one Mme. Bustier, who had just walked in the door.

 

“Mademoiselle Césaire, I won’t tolerate such language in my classroom. Go to to headmaster’s-” The woman’s eyes popped when she caught sight of the two boys strewn like empty potato sacks across the front of the room. “Good lord, what happened?”

 

Marinette stared mutely along with the rest of the class as Mme. Bustier ducked down to better inspect Adrien. As she carefully placed a hand on his shoulder, he began to tip backwards a little, blinking groggily at his hands, covered in blood-

 

The first fat, hot tears began to spill over Marinette’s cheeks.

 

“And what’s wrong with Nino?” asked Mme. Bustier, glancing up at the boy hunched over the bin.

“Sick,” said Alya stiffly. “Because of the bl-”

Nino retched loudly.


	2. Chapter 2

The walk to the nurse’s office was the longest journey of Marinette’s entire life.

Mme. Bustier couldn’t transport the two boneless boys and teach a class at the same time, so she’d called upon the class president and her vice president for aid.  
Too bad the president was currently in the throes of an internal meltdown.  
In the end it was Alya who had sprung into action - hiking up a still stunned Adrien and looping his arm over Marinette’s stock-still shoulders, before helping up a very green Nino and tugging him towards the door. Marinette, she-

-she couldn’t move. Adrien was heavy: she was supporting almost his full weight and she could feel the way he sagged into her side because he couldn’t stand and she had done that and oh god- He shouldn’t, she thought dimly, he shouldn’t trust her to hold him because she was the one who’d- Blood roared in her ears and her eyes burned and her gut shriveled painfully because she was about to burst into tears, how else could she possibly-

Alya tossed her head back over her shoulder. Her jaw tensed as she quickly took in her best friend’s rapidly reddening face and watery eyes; then she smiled at her.

It was a warm, honest, sympathetic smile, and all the knots of fear that had webbed through Marinette’s chest about Alya’s feelings towards her post-family-heirloom-wrecking began to loosen. Alya’s silent reassurance wasn’t an instant cure, but a little bit of the darkness had ebbed out of Marinette’s vision and that would have to do for now. _Thank you…_

Marinette steeled herself, drawing in a deep breath and blinking to clear her vision a little. _Walk girl, walk._

And so she had, though as each second dragged on she felt herself slowly slipping back towards breaking point. She couldn’t blame Adrien, not at all. Not when he tripped on a step and nearly dragged her down into the pavement with him, not when his head lolled suddenly and collided with hers with a dull ‘crack’. Every little stumble was accompanied by a slurred apology: each one made her feel worse and worse and worse…  
When a spot of blood dropped from between his fingers and onto her shirt, he began to clumsily paw at her collar and that was it: Marinette began to blubber.

“Thorry,” he said thickly, still rubbing at the spot. “I’m tho thowy Mawined, I think I’m mathing thith worth- “  
Adrien stopped when her fingers dug into his ribs and reared back in alarm as what promised to be the first of many shuddering sobs escaped her. “I’m thowy! Thowy, d’d I… Ugh...” He slumped and both of Marinette’s arms snapped fast around his waist to keep him upright. She stared up at him with wide fearful eyes, suddenly silent. Adrien blinked.  
“Jutht, uh bid dithy,” he mumbled, trying to smile at her from behind his fingers. His face fell when Marinette began to cry harder. “Oh no, pleath don’d-“

“Marinette, you guys need some help back there?”

Alya poked her head around the door of the nurse’s office – The nurse’s office! Marinette shook her head firmly, ducking her head and pulling a still stammering Adrien along with her for the final leg: get him in a chair, get him some tissues, and then you can throw yourself off a bridge. The words looped in her mind like a mantra, the latter part being surprisingly motivational.

The nurse’s office was divided into two parts: the reception area and the curtained back rooms, where the students were treated. The areas were split by a high counter behind which the nurse usually sat – not today, it seemed. Alya grumbled something about going to find her and promptly strode over to and disappeared behind the curtains. Along the wall facing the counter was a row of padded chairs, bookended by a small bin on one side and and a little table piled with magazines and a tissue box on the other.   

As carefully as she could, Marinette deposited Adrien in the chair furthest away from Nino (whose head was planted firmly between his knees), seized a fistful of tissues and crouched in front of him. Gently, trying not to shake too much and hurt him any more (than she already had), Marinette peeled Adrien’s fingers away from his face. Her breathing hitched.

‘Ugly’ wasn’t a word she’d associated with Adrien Agreste past the first day of school, but what Marinette had uncovered was _ugly_. Adrien’s nose was a patchwork of reds that were beginning to turn blue in some areas, and it was about twice the size as it should have been. A thin purple horizontal line in the middle was the epicenter of the disaster and where the bruising was most severe – where he’d hit the edge of the desk, clearly. Though the blood flow seemed to have stemmed for the most part, twin trickles of bright red still oozed from nostrils that were black and caked with dried blood. Smudged trails ran over his lips and down his chin, like he’d been swiped from nose to neck with a broad paintbrush. Crimson flecks and bloodied finger-made smears covered his cheeks. Marinette’s chest tightened and judging by the look of pity on Adrien’s face she guessed that she’d started crying again.

Marinette bit her lip to try and quell her quiet hiccupping. Adrien was looking down at her with a confusing mixture of gratefulness and concern, which only made her face burn brighter with shame because she didn’t deserve to be looked at by him like that, it was as if he didn’t blame her at all for what happened-  
She dabbed at his cheeks with the tissue, gingerly patting around the rim of his nostrils and across the top of his upper lip- Adrien flinched suddenly and her hands dropped like stones.

“Sorry,” she choked out. He smiled weakly and slowly pulled the tissue from between her trembling fingers.  
“Maybe it’th bedder if I do id mythelf,” Adrien winced as he pressed the whole wad of tissues up against his nose. “Thangew dough.”

Marinette hung her head, swallowing painfully. Yes, Marinette. Just leave him alone. Stop hurting him, can’t you see that all you do is-

“Mawined?”  
She jumped when she felt a hesitant hand on her shoulder but she didn’t look up. She couldn’t.  
“Mawined pweath don’d kwai… ‘ere, sid ub ‘ere!” She caught a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye: Adrien was patting the seat next to her with the enthusiasm of someone who wasn’t inviting the cause of a nasty facial maiming to sit next to him. Mariette curled deeper in onto herself, squeezing her eyes shut.  
“Mawined…”  
He sounded so sad and it was like a steel-capped boot to the chest-

“Dude. No wonder she’s crying: you’re one ugly bastard! Looks like you tried to stop a truck with your _face_.”

Marinette cracked open an eye just in time to see Adrien snort an explosive bubble of blood – Nino dove for the little bin by his feet and retched again. She scrambled to her feet, hurrying over to pat him on the back while he- yikes, she was surprised he had anything left to throw up at this point.

Alya and the nurse reappeared just in time to witness Nino’s turn for the worst, the two of them jogging over to haul the boy to his feet (he clutched onto that rubbish bin for dear life) and pull him through the curtain. The horrible sound of vomiting lessened as they moved further into the bowels of the backroom: a distant slam of a door and then silence.

Marinette hovered awkwardly between the door and the desk, staring ahead at the still-flapping curtain.  
“Adrien?” she breathed. Adrien looked up at her; she could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head.  Marinette shivered. She dropped her face into her hands and turned around.

Oh boy, here it comes.

This time, she didn’t make an effort to hold back the waterworks: unchecked tears poured down her cheeks and pooled between her fingers.  
“Adrien I’m so, s-so sorry.”  
“Whad? Why?“  
You’ve got to be joking. Did he seriously not-  
“Because- Because- I did- You- I hurt- “  
Adrien’s eyes widened as he caught the meaning behind her blubbered words. He wobbled to his feet.  
“Mawined thith ithn’d your fauld!”  
It was.  
“Yes it is!” she wailed, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her palms. “I-it’s all m-my f-f-fault and I-I’m su-such a kl-klutz and I hu-hu- _hurt_ you- “  
“Mawined no, id wath an acthidend! An acthid-”  
“Yes b-but it was still my f-fault… N-now please s-sit d-d-down bef-f-fore you… You… “

A hand delicately pulled on one of Marinette’s.  
“Only ith you thtop blaming yourthelf,” he said urgently. “Pleath?”  
Marinette shook her head violently and she heard him sigh.  
“Ogay, well… Thit down ad leatht. Pleath thit down. Pleath Mawined.”

Marinette fell into the seat beside Adrien’s, furiously wiping her cheeks with her free hand- her heart leapt when she realized that the other was still firmly in the grip of-  
Adrien must’ve realized it too because he suddenly withdrew his hand and stuffed it into the tissue box next to him.

Silence, broken only by quiet sniffling.

“Thangth for cawwying be ‘ere by duh way,” tried Adrien, glancing over at her from behind a fresh fistful of tissues.  
Marinette cringed.  
“A-and,” he looked away. “You dow, I’m wowwied for you… Becauth you’re… Ubthet… I thoughd derth a… I thoughd… Well… Thad you mighd ged… Mighd be…”  
“You know,” croaked Marinette. The tears still flowed but her face was beginning to tingle as the blood receded from her cheeks. “I can’t u-understand what you’re s-saying.”  
Adrien’s shoulders shook and brushed hers as he laughed.

They looked at each other then, and Adrien’s expression sobered.

“Jutht,” he began carefully, look her dead in the eye. “Ith dangerouth nowadayth… Jutht pwomith me you won’d begum an aguma, ogay?”

An akuma. He was worried she was going to turn into an akuma.  
Marinette chuckled weakly.  
If only he knew.

“Okay,” she breathed, smiling a little into her hand. “I p-promise.”  
She heard a relieved sigh. Something nudged Marinette on her elbow and she looked over: Adrien was passing her the rapidly depleting box of tissues.      
Her heart squeezed.  
She gripped the box, opening her mouth to say thank you but she made the mistake of looking at him and here they were again, just staring at each other like-

 

BANG.

 

The door was almost torn off its hinges by a stern-looking woman in a sharp black suit. Her heels struck the polished concrete and she stormed into the reception, her glasses glinting furiously as she caught sight of them. Her perfectly manicured nails tightened on the edge of her tablet and her lips thinned as she took in Adrien’s appearance. Marinette felt him stiffen, glanced over at him and-  
-all the blood had drained from Adrien’s face and he looked like he wanted to scream. His free hand clenched against his thigh and he seemed to shrink a little into the tissues at his nose.

“Adrien,” the woman thundered. He squirmed in his seat, actively avoiding looking at her and it suddenly struck Marinette that Adrien knew her. Actually, come to think of it, Marinette had seen her before. She was-

Oh no.

“Adrien, tell me what happened,” said _Gabriel Agreste’s personal assistant_ . Oh, oh Marinette was _so_ finished. Once the word got out that she’d effectively mauled the son of the Paris’ greatest fashion magnate, that was the end of Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Little pieces of her would be found scattered in the Seine tomorrow morning, for sure. Goodbye, cruel world.  
“D’wath an acthidend, Nadalie,” mumbled Adrien into his tissues, looking at his feet and shying away from the woman called Nathalie. “I juthd fell, I wath being thtupid and I juthd fell.”  
She should’ve heard a chorus of angels in her head as he lied for her but all Marinette felt was terrible guilt. Her eyes burned at the corners again - _not now_ !  
Nathalie’s brow creased and she bent forward at the waist, ever so slightly.  
“Are you alright?” she asked.

Adrien looked up at her, genuinely surprised by the slightest hint of care behind those words. Marinette’s heart sank at the sight.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m alwight…”  
And then it was gone. Nathalie’s posture resumed its ramrod straightness, the crease in her forehead ironed out to the smoothness of her jacket. It was like the flicker of emotion had never existed.

It was then that she seemed to notice Marinette for the first time. She turned to her: Marinette’s innards turned icy.

“Mademoiselle,” she barked. “Where is the nurse?”  
“B-behind the curtain, M-Madame,” squeaked Marinette, secretly very proud that she’d managed that much.     
“Adrien,” threw Nathalie over her shoulder as she tore back the curtain and marched down the corridor. “We will be leaving shortly, please prepare yourself.”  
Adrien leapt out of his chair, his face a mask of horror.  
“D-don’d-”

But it was too late: somewhere a door had slammed and the shrill of female yelling drifted down the hallway.  
Shakily, Adrien lowered himself back down, fingers twisting and ripping the fistful of bloodied tissues in his hand. The muffled yelling continued, voices raising in pitch and volume until it sounded like a distant pair of budgerigars arguing - their voices echoed off the walls.  
It was horrible.  
It was awkward and it was horrible and as bad as it must be for her to listen to it must’ve been even worse for- Marinette tore her eyes away from the curtain and drew a sharp breath: Adrien’s eyes were blank and disturbingly glassy, almost like he was about to-

Marinette carefully reached out and lowered her hand over the ones twisting and tearing in Adrien’s lap. They stilled instantly. Marinette's eyes flicked up. He wasn’t looking at her, gaze still straight ahead, unfocused, and _wet_. His breathing had shallowed too. Marinette experimentally tightened her fingers, watching for his reaction. His hands were warm, hot even, except for the icy chill of that band on his right ring finger.

But he didn’t pull away, so Marinette kept her hand where it was.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor children


	3. Chapter 3

Adrien didn’t show up to school the next day. Or the day after.

Marinette didn’t know as much about Adrien Agreste as she’d have liked to, but one thing she knew for sure was that he had worked hard (was _still_ working hard) to be allowed to attend public school. And, judging by the reaction of his father’s assistant at the nurse’s office, Marinette got the distinct and unshakeable impression that she’d single-handedly ripped it all right out from under him.

The week outside of Marinette’s thoughts had not been going well either. What started with Alya politely declining her request to repair the damage she’d done to the heirloom pillow (“oh don’t worry about it, my grandmother wanted to fix it herself” - sure) had been made worse by a stern letter detailing the school’s policy towards repeat tardiness offenders being sent to her parents and a subsequent “we’re not mad, just disappointed” talk.

She’d done well - she hadn’t cried at all since the nurse’s office. But Marinette was tired. She was exhausted from the self-criticism that battered her psyche like waves against the rocks and it was beginning to show: even Chloe’s picking, which she prided herself in typically flat-out ignoring, was starting to creep under her skin. The mayor’s daughter was in prime form. Nearly hysterical over the extended absenteeism of “her Adrikins”, Chloe had made no secret of whom she held responsible. And Marinette hadn’t once opened her mouth to defend herself: after all, she agreed with her.

It was on the third day of his absence that Alya leaned over the desk and tapped Nino on the shoulder.  
“Yeah man, it’s been pretty much radio silence,” he said, leaning back on his elbow towards them. One growl from Alya and Nino’s eyes flickered worriedly over to the brooding entity of misery wavering in the seat next to her. “I mean, yeah, I’ve gotten a couple of texts from him! He said something about being out of the country for a few days. If you ask me it’s just that he’s not allowed to go out in public with a nose the size of-”  
A long brown arm whipped around to smack Nino’s hat off his head.  
“Ow!”  
“Don’t worry, girl,” Alya crooned, petting her friend on the back as Marinette’s head dropped between her folded arms on the desk. “It’s probably just fashion-y stuff… He’ll be back soon.”  
The three were quiet as they let the hollow words hang in the air.  
_If he comes back at all._

On the fourth day Ladybug’s yoyo missed the overhanging beam in a construction site. Five floors of heart-stopping free fall – the wind screamed in her ears and the night lights of the city whizzed by – her torso slammed into the steel frame with a clang that echoed through the deserted buildings of the business district.

 _Ow_.

Ladybug wheezed, using the last of the adrenalin from the fall to hoist herself up with shaking limbs onto the beam. _Ow_ . She rolled onto her back, gasping for air and clutching her gut, shivering as she felt the steel beneath her still vibrating from the force of the impact. Hell, _she_ was still vibrating from the force of the impact: her bones would be buzzing for weeks. _Owwww._ She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on trying to breathe, willing the pain to recede.

Enough was enough: there was being distracted at school, and distracted at home. But distraction at work – distraction as Ladybug – was _not_ an option. People could get hurt, she could get hurt – shit, if she wasn’t wearing the suit just now she would’ve-  
She had to _get a grip_. Ladybug needed cheering up. Marinette needed cheering up. She needed a distraction, someone who would make her forget, even for a second-  
Wincing, Ladybug reached for her yoyo.

The first time she called him the line rang out. She huffed. Before she could think better of it, her finger automatically jabbed the redial button. Selfish. Marinette’s- Ladybug’s lip trembled. So selfish- but she’d deal with the shame later, right now she was desperate-  
“Good evening, my lady! How can I be of service?”  
Ladybug exhaled, her eyes sliding shut. She melted against the beam. Relief washed over her, but… Her innards squeezed guiltily and her words died on her tongue- could she really do this to him? Use him as a crutch to make herself feel better?

“…Ladybug?”  
And now she’d worried him too. Great.  
“Hi Chat,” she sighed. “How’s your cold?”  
“Much better, thank you!” chirped the slightly staticky voice of Chat Noir. He sniffled. “Still a little bunged up though.”  
She could tell: though his voice wasn’t nearly as globby as it was when he’d called her earlier on in the week to cancel their joint patrol, there was still a definite nasal twang to it.  
“How’s flying solo? Missing me yet?”  
Ladybug hummed non-committedly. A short laugh on the phone then… Silence.  
“…is everything okay?”  
She sucked in a breath between her teeth. Oh no.  
“Ladybug what’s w- “  
SHIT.  
“I have to go,” she choked, snapping the yoyo shut and letting her arm fall back against the chilly metal.

Shit.

When her eyes burned, Ladybug just resigned herself to it. She was just… Too tired. Fine - she wanted to cry? FINE. Get it over with.  
A low keen escaped her throat as Ladybug rolled onto her side, face slowly curling in on itself because no, no, no. That wasn’t how that exchange was supposed to go. Chat was her partner, he was supposed to _just know_ not to ask, he was supposed to just know that she didn’t ring him to talk about what was going on, and she felt betrayed, somehow… How dare he be unable to read her mind. And why did everyone have to poke and prod at her anyway? Ladybug couldn’t stand their pity any longer, she just wanted to replay her mistakes in her mind over and over again until she could figure out how to fix them, figure out how to make it better for him after she’d gone and ruined everything he’d-  

Ladybug jumped violently when a hand gripped her shoulder.  
“Hey,” said a soft voice from above her: her chest clenched painfully. “Hey…”

Oh _crap_.

Her limbs snapped up and into a tight ball, like some kind of gigantic red millipede. _How had he even_ \- She buried her face deep into the cradle of her arms. Maybe if she ignored him he’d go away. Nope nope nope nope nope, she didn’t want anyone to see her like this, least of all-  
The hand on her shoulder had moved to stroke her upper arm, fingers lightly trailing in undeniably soothing little circles. Ladybug grimaced. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to even out her breathing... And found herself focusing on the aimless patterns being drawn onto her suit by those talented digits.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, if you don’t want to… I’m here anyway.”  
His voice was taut with unbridled concern. And closer, actually, than she’d expected. Sighing, her limbs (and her heart) began to gradually unfurl.  
“You should be at home if you’re sick,” she croaked- she winced at how thick her voice sounded. Great. “Don’t want your bug to get any worse.”

A short pause.

“Well I actually came here with the intention of cheering her up, but if it would please my bug I'll do whatever she requests of me.”

...

She flipped over to smack him on the knee.  
“Stupid- Stupid- _Stupid_ -”  
And then she was crying and laughing at the same time (wow, talk about messy) and she was dragging herself onto his lap and into open arms that wound around her middle so tight she thought he was trying to squeeze all the tears out of her.

 

“You _dare_ to pun at me when I’m clearly distraught,” she mumbled into his ribs some time later, when her sobbing had cooled to embarrassed sniffles and his arms had loosened in favour of delicately tracing a small stretch of her spine with his claws. It tickled: Ladybug shivered.  
Chat Noir’s sides lurched with quiet laughter.  
“Sorry,” he said in a tone that suggested that he wasn’t.  
“Liar,” she rasped. His arms fell away from her suddenly and Ladybug definitely didn’t feel a pang of disappointment when they did. She was surprised when his fingers tangled in the ends of her pigtails instead, lazily curling and spinning the short strands. She was even more surprised to find that she didn’t really mind.  

Her eyes drifted shut when his chest expanded against her cheek - he’d taken a deep breath.  
“Ladybug?”  
She hummed in response, worn out from crying and perfectly content to just lay in the lap of her toasty-hot-water-bottle of a partner for a little while longer, regardless of how he was almost definitely messing up her hair. She felt better, almost, than she had all week. Well not better; her problems still remained, but it felt like a bubble had been popped or a fever had broken or something, and she remembered - sometimes nothing was better than a good cry to relieve the stress a little. It might also have helped that she had someone around who, as it turned out, gave quite excellent hugs.  
“Do you… Would you like to tell me about it?”  
She opened her eyes at that.  
“...not really.”  
“A-ah.”

…

Oh come on, she owed him _something_ at least.  
“Just… Just a tough week, chaton. I’ll figure it out.”  
And for the first time in days she actually believed the words. She could fix this. Somehow.  
Chat seemed to accept her answer, not pressing her any further and draping his arms about her shoulders. Good. 

“Tell me about your week,” she murmured, burying her nose into his side. She might’ve felt his sharp intake of breath. “What’d you get up to?”  
“Ha, well… Not much to tell really. Just tucked up in bed all… Uh…”  
He swallowed and Ladybug frowned, fighting the urge to look at him when his arms tightened a fraction.

“Actually,” said Chat quietly. His voice was low with worry and Ladybug wondered whose ass she was going to have to kick for upsetting her chaton - his family’s perhaps? She raised a hand to one of his. Chat Noir didn’t speak about them very often, but she knew that he and his father had a… Less than amicable relationship. His fingers twitched beneath hers as she absent-mindedly rubbed an outline around the Miraculous on his right hand. “I… I was worried a… F-friend of mine… I thought she was going to turn into… She was really upset. And I was scared. For her.”

Ladybug straightened then, propping herself up with two hands on his thighs. She peered into the relative darkness: Chat’s head was turned from hers and all she could see was a mop of blonde. His cat ears drooped sadly.  
“She… Uh… It was my fault.”  
“How?” She shouldn’t press him. Don’t press him, you _jerk_ , especially when he didn’t press you! She opened her mouth to take it back-  
Chat whirled to face her, his eyes a storm and his mouth twisted in anguish.  
“There was an accident at school and she blamed herself for what happened and I thought she didn’t _like_ me Ladybug but she was _crying_ for me and I thought-”  
“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?”  
“My… What? Oh.”   


	4. Chapter 4

On Saturday mornings, between 11:15 and 11:45, Adrien Agreste has a thirty minute break between his scheduled fencing practice and extra tutelage. He usually spends that time lying on his back in the middle of the floor bouncing a basketball against the backboard of the hoop on the opposite wall. The latter part, at least, had been found out through conversation rather than good-old-fashioned creeping.

 

Conversation.

 

Marinette froze mid-stride, foot stuck out awkwardly in the air in front of her. She blinked up at the imposing block of mansion: it seemed to get bigger the longer she stared at it, looming over her like a cliff-face and casting the entire street in shadow. She swallowed.

 

Conversation.

 

Somewhere in between the highs and lows of last night’s emotional roller coaster, Marinette had convinced herself to take matters into her own hands and talk to Adrien herself. In person. Apologise properly, sincerely, and to his face. Maybe grovel a bit. Or a lot. Possibly swear herself to him as a slave in penance. Or something.

 

But she’d forgotten that, in talking to Adrien, she’d actually have to talk to Adrien.

 

“Oh, hi there! How’re you doing? Yeah just stopping by to say hello… Ha ha, yes, yes I do look different without snot dribbling down my chin, don’t I! You look different too: nice to see that your nose is looking more like a nose and less like an aubergine - also great to see you’re not bleeding rivers anymore! By the way, would you consider forgiving me for ruining your face if I took you out on a romantic candlelit dinner for two?”

 

Marinette spun on her heel. Nope. Nooope. Nope nope nopeity nope-

 

When she collided face-first with a gigantic helium-filled smiley face, she remembered two things. One: she’d mentioned her plans to Alya last night. Alya who had showed up at 9 o’clock this morning with a giant card signed by their entire class, a trolley filled with various paraphernalia (including a huge bouquet of hideous yellow flowers that Marinette had been very tempted to leave at home), and a fistful of balloons. Her class missed Adrien too. Badly, by the amount of stuff Marinette had lugged over here. Her friends were depending on her to deliver their well-wishes, and that was bigger than her own insecurities.

Two: curiously, Chat Noir’s face drifted to mind. He’d been there for her last night, holding her, rocking her all the way through her meltdown. And then he’d bashfully accepted her reprimanding as she proceeded to lecture him on the correct way to use a tennis racket and how that normal use didn’t involve cracking yourself in the nose with one.

Marinette flushed a little.

Chat Noir who didn’t press her about what was troubling her when she didn’t want to answer, Chat Noir who hummed approvingly when she said that she was going to fix things, Chat Noir who murmured soft reassurances about her strength of character when she sorely needed it.

She straightened her shoulders a fraction, her lips thinning with determination. If someone as good as Chat Noir believed in her, no matter how unworthy she thought herself, she had to at least try. If not for herself, for the other people depending on her.

 

Right. Marinette took a settling breath, curled her fingers in the clasp of her purse for courage (which buzzed in response - thanks Tikki), looped her arm through the handle of the trolley and stalked across the street with the air of a conquering hero. Though she imagined she must’ve looked rather silly to passer-bys, carting with her an entire gift shop.

 

Drawing up to the front gate, Marinette pressed the intercom with a confident flourish.

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

...what if no one was home.

 

Oh god, what if they’d left the country and were never coming back. Marinette paled. What if Adrien had been sent to some remote Tibetan monastery to recover. What if his injuries caused him to remain in the mountains forever as a hermit, too ashamed to show his maimed face to-

 

“Good morning, please state your name and business.”

 

Marinette’s relief was short lived: the cool female voice belonged to the woman who’d picked Adrien up from the nurse’s office on Monday. Nathalie - Gabriel Agreste’s personal assistant. _That_ sure sent a nasty jolt through her system.

 

“Hi- H-hello,” squeaked Marinette, eyes darting between the intercom and the little camera above it.

 

…

 

“...can I help you?”

 

Shit! Say something!

 

“Hello!” she gasped again, posture snapping ramrod straight. “M-my name is Dupai- Marincheng- Marinette Dupain-Cheng! I attend Collège Françoise Dupont with-”

 

“I’m sorry, but Gabriel Agreste does not attend to his community projects personally, especially not on a weekend and least of all at his private abode. Please call our offices during working hours with your inquiry.”

 

Marinette’s cheeks flared with humiliation.

 

“I-no, I,” she choked back on the tight ball of frustration in her throat. “I’m here to see the other one… The other Monsieur Ag- Adrien-”

 

That was clearly the wrong thing to say: the voice grew harsh.

 

“As I have _repeatedly_ stated on _multiple_ occasions to many other hopeful members of his fanclub, please refrain from contacting Adrien at home or we will have no choice but to involve the police-”

 

“No!” Marinette raised her hands desperately. “No, it’s not like that, I’m in his class, I was the one who… I was…  In the nurse’s office… With him, uh, when… Um…”

 

What could she say? She dipped her head instead, shuffling to the side and gesturing feebly towards the gaudy balloon display behind her.

 

“We’re all really worried about him, the class, you see…”

 

She ran out of words.

 

Silence over the intercom.

 

Marinette wrung her hands and kept her eyes fixed on her toes, wanting suddenly to make herself as small as possible.

 

“...one moment please.”

 

Marinette’s head snapped up so quickly she might’ve gotten whiplash.

Wh- Really? Oh god, oh god, this might actually be happening. Marinette’s fingers curled into the hair on either side of her head. She might actually pull this off. Would he come to the door? Would she be escorted upstairs? Would she be taken to his room? Would he be happy to see her? What if he wasn’t- What if he _was_? Heat crept up her neck and she was pretty sure her eyes had glazed over-

“Mademoiselle?”

“Yes!” blurted Marinette, whirling to face the intercom. “Me! I’m here!”

...

“I’m very sorry, but Mr. Agreste is not receiving visitors at this time.”

Marinette’s heart sank.

“Oh,” she said. Oh. But what about- “O-okay, that’s… B-but could someone maybe deliver these to-“

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Thank you on Mr. Agreste’s behalf, however - please tell your classmates that they’re very thoughtful and that I’m sure he’d be touched by how much he means to you all.”

 

Marinette paused in her toeing of the pavement to turn bright scarlet.

 

“...I really am sorry, Mademoiselle.”

 

If it was any consolation, Marinette told herself (it wasn’t), the disembodied voice of Gabriel Agreste’s assistant did actually sound a little bit regretful.

 

“That’s okay,” mumbled Marinette. “Thank you anyway…”

 

“You’re welcome. Have a pleasant weekend.”

 

The intercom line dropped.

 

…

 

Marinette stood in front of the gate, still staring at the little speaker box, without the faintest idea of what to do next. She should go home, was her first thought. But what about the gifts her classmates had thrown together overnight? Marinette cast them a miserable glance. She couldn’t leave them here, should she take them with her? What would she tell her classmates? They’d be so disappointed…

 

And what about her grand quest for redemption? Well. That’d been cut short. Marinette gripped the handle of the trolley and turned back towards the street. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying desperately to quell the rush of disappointment welling up in her throat. It’s okay, she told herself furiously. You tried, it’s the thought that counts. You tried.

 

You tried, and now you can spend all weekend wrapped up in a blanket in the dark watching movies until you-

 

A crackle of static behind her made Marinette very nearly jump out of her skin.   

 

“Hello? Hello? Are you still there?”

 

Marinette’s breath caught in her throat. Turning jerkily on the spot like a wooden doll on the mantle of a swiss clock, she blinked stupidly at the flashing intercom. No. Way.

 

“...hello?”

 

The voice was so small and sad that Marinette all but lunged forward and slapped the intercom button as if it were a particularly offensive mosquito.

 

“Hello good!” she yelped. “I mean good morning!”

 

“...Marinette?”

 

He sounded absolutely shocked and she cringed-

 

“Marinette! Marinette is that y- Wow! I mean, hi! I mean, you’re here! You, it’s you! I- Can you, um, can you wait there for a second? This is so great, I’m just so- Please stay right there I’ll be-”

 

The line dropped, cutting off Adrien’s excited babbling, and once again leaving Marinette in a stunned silence.  

 

That… Seemed… Good? Marinette dared to hope at the unbridled delight that she thought she’d just heard. Was he… He was pleased to see her? _Her_? He wasn’t mad? Her heart thumped in time to the words that bounced around the inside of her skull. Wow, he’d said… And great, and- Wait, why was she supposed to wait-

 

Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she leapt about a foot into the air.

 

Marinette spun to face her attacker, purse raised threateningly- Adrien had his hands raised in a placating gesture, trying to wipe the enormous grin off his face in favour of something more befitting a person who’d nearly been whacked in the face by an accessory.

 

“How did you-”

 

He pressed a finger to his lips (Marinette scolded herself for the stab of jealousy caused by a _finger_ for fuck’s sake) and beckoned her to follow. Which she did, obviously. She’d probably follow Adrien Agreste over the rim of a volcano if he asked her too. Sure. That was healthy.

 

Marinette nearly walked into his back when Adrien stopped short: his head snapped up and to the left, to the right… Absently following his gaze, she realized with a start that he’d positioned them in a blind spot between the video surveillance around the perimeter.

Well now. That certainly was useful information.

 

Snapped from her fantasies by a blinding flash of white teeth, Marinette blurted something that sounded vaguely like “good morning”. Adrien beamed at her.

 

“Hi,” he replied a bit breathlessly, fiddling with his fingertips. “It’s, um, it’s really good to see you!”

 

Unspoken words hung in the air: I didn’t expect to see _you_. She swallowed.

 

“I…” Marinette cleared her throat and tried again, fighting to keep her cool. “It’s good to see you too. How’s your nose?”

 

They both winced: Adrien’s hand flew to his nose and Marinette’s to cover her entire face with an audible smack. Good going, Marinette. Subtle as a brick.

 

“It’s, uh, it’s getting there! Um…”

 

Marinette peeked through her fingertips.

 

Adrien wasn’t looking at her, eyeing his toes sheepishly instead. His nose, though still a violent cluster of blacks and yellows, was back to its normal size. A thin white strip stretched across the bridge of his nose, where the black was heaviest, which seemed to cover what Marinette knew to be the epicentre of the injury. Where he’d hit the desk. Her heart squeezed.

 

“But, how’re you?” said Adrien cheerily, quickly retracting his hand from his nose and taking half a step closer to her. “Are you doing okay? How’s school?”

 

‘S-school?” Marinette struggled to bring her brain back around into small talk mode. “I- Yeah! School is fine. Fine. Not much has, uh, has really happened… Um...”

 

“And you…?” Adrien pressed, bending slightly at the waist and pushing his face closer to hers than Marinette was frankly equipped to handle. “Are you okay?”

 

She stared up at him, trying not to faint as Adrien’s eyes flickered all over her in what appeared to be genuine concern. She opened her mouth to reply- Or just to get some goddamn oxygen in her lungs at this point, she didn’t care which happened first.

 

“F-f-f-f-f-fine,” she managed, in a voice about six octaves higher than usual. “I’m f-f-fine, thank- thank- thank-thank-thank-”

 

“Oh good,” Adrien sighed, pulling back (thank GOD) and stuffing his hands in his pockets. His lip quirked into a modest expression that sent a volley of cannon fire through Marinette’s chest. “I’m glad that you’re, um, you’re still yourself.”

 

Still yourself?

 

Not an akuma.

 

Ha.

 

He tilted his head curiously and Marinette realised she’d chuckled out loud. She froze. Uh-

 

Mercifully, at that moment, Adrien’s eyes trailed over her shoulder and to the mess piled up behind her.

 

“Are you… Going to a party?”

 

It took Marinette a full five seconds to understand what on earth he was referring to.

 

“Oh!” She gasped, nearly tripping backwards over her heels as she made to rearrange herself. Adrien surged forward with a well-practised urgency that only came from catching a flailing Marinette on a regular basis. She waved him off, wobbling to the side and raising her arms in an awkward scissoring motion.

 

“Tah dah!”

 

Adrien glanced from the balloon-ridden trolley to Marinette with politely subdued confusion.

 

Oh.

 

“It’s, ah, it’s for you.”

 

Adrien’s jaw dropped.

 

“T-they’re not all from me obviously, that’d be really- Uh, it’s from the class: Alya showed up with it this morning, look, see there’s a card and… I don’t know who the balloons are from but I, uh, I think the flowers are from Chloe-” Marinette pulled out the disgusting display of foliage and dug into the bowels of the trolley beneath. “Nino’s made about twenty mix tapes for you apparently though I think they’re at the bottom because he put them in first, and then I think the Ladybug snowglobe is from Alya which is kind of… Weird… But... Uh… And, and Sabrina’s done the homework for you! And Nathanaël’s drawn a picture of- Okay that’s another Ladybug thing too, and Rose and Juleka made something together - Alya said that’s under… Oh here!” She pulled a slightly squashed box from the fray. “This one’s m-mine! I made you another quiche because you liked it from the last time you were over I think and I put extra bacon in it because… Because…”

 

He wasn’t saying anything.

 

Marinette looked over her shoulder and nearly dropped the her eggy masterpiece all over the pavement because Adrien Agreste looked like he was about to cry.

 

Before she could open her mouth to apologise for absolutely everything she’d ever done, Adrien’s hands shot up and cupped the sides of his face, as if to contain the watery grin threatening to split his cheeks apart.

 

“You- You guys- For me?” Adrien’s voice wobbled. “Really?”

 

Marinette nodded slowly, completely at a loss.

 

She had less than a second’s warning to drop the quiche back into the trolley before she was pulled into a heart-stoppingly tight hug.

He was warm and Marinette was butter judging by the way she felt herself melting against him. She let out a shuddering breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding and raised an arm to pat him on the back: Adrien squeezed her. It didn’t hurt, but the confines of his arms were seemingly shrinking every wonderful second that passed and Marinette feared she’d turn to goo and ooze to the ground if they kept this up. Something cool chilled her skin through the thin material of her shirt at her waist - his ring? The offset of temperatures sent a shiver down her spine. Good hugger, she thought dimly. Very good hugger.

 

It only lasted for about five seconds but Marinette would replay it in her mind on loop for the rest of her life, she swore.

 

Adrien stepped back and rubbed the heel of his palm against his cheek, ducking his head to try and hide his smile - it seemed to have become a permanent fixture at this point (god she hoped it was).

 

“Happy?” Marinette heard someone ask. Oh. Oh! It was her.

 

Adrien nodded vigorously, still beaming - put him on the coast and that boy’s face could steer ships from the rocks, it was so bright.

 

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Yeah I - thank you so much. Thank everyone- And thank you for coming. Thanks, Marinette.”

 

And, looking at him, she could see that he really meant it, like she knew he would.

 

For the first time in what felt like the whole week, Marinette smiled. Really smiled.

 

And then she opened her big mouth.

 

“How’re you going to get this all inside?”

 

Adrien paled as Marinette slapped her hands over her mouth.

 

“U-u-uh, I, uh,” Adrien licked his lips and his eyes were looking everywhere but her. “I’ve… Uh, I’ve got a s-secret! Entrance! Back entrance! Secret back door,” he gestured vaguely to the wall. “Back door! There’s a back door!”

 

His behaviour might’ve registered as weird to Marinette had she not been drowning in mortification.

 

“Yes!” she agreed. “Back door!”

 

“Great!” Adrien almost yelled. He caught sight of his watch, and really did yell. “Oh cripes, I was supposed to be in the study ten minutes ago, I-” He gripped her shoulders suddenly and Marinette gaped up at him. “I’ll see you on Monday, okay?” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

 

“Okay,” she breathed. “See you on-”

 

Adrien quickly pressed his lips to her cheek before seizing the trolley and tearing off around the corner like a hurricane, balloons bouncing and bumping off the wall.

 

“Bye, Marinette! Thank you so much! Monday!”

 

Good thing that Adrien wasn’t sticking around for a reply - Marinette didn’t move a muscle for the next fifteen minutes.

 

She would be halfway up the stairs to her room before she realized that she’d forgotten to apologize.

 

“CRAP!”

 


End file.
